intoxicated (on you)
by bs13
Summary: Darcy is feeling very out of her element at the fancy party Thor has taken her and Jane to, but at the very least his brother is a nice distraction. AU.


**guess who hasn't written for these two in three years? i'm very out of practice but i guess it's a oneshot with a cute meeting? it was also a very late secret santa gift for the tasertricks secret santa exchange on tumblr so yeah this says a lot about how late it is**

 **(i'm djsugar over on tumblr if you guys want to witness my humiliation at posting this late too)**

* * *

"Jane," Darcy Lewis says in a low voice, "there's no beer."

Jane Foster just nods, taking another two champagne flutes off a passing tray in lieu of replying. Her mouth is set in a grim line—not a good sign—as she wordlessly hands one over. Darcy takes the flute and dutifully sips, but she's never been a champagne girl. She's a shotgun-beer-in-a-frat-party kind of girl, really, and this high society etiquette is not something taught on the sticky floor of frat houses.

There's no sign of Thor yet, and Jane seems particularly antsy without her boyfriend as a vantage point. Truthfully, Darcy feels a bit nervous herself; it's one thing to be invited to some party full of more adult-ier adults, but it's another to stay sitting in a corner and drinking champagne until the empty flutes surround them. (There's already two sitting by Jane's thigh.)

There is even honest-to-God classical music playing. People are freaking _waltzing_ on the dancefloor, and taking the time to speak to one another (and not just grind on each other on the way to the nearest bedroom, either). When Thor had invited Jane and Darcy, he'd neglected to mention just how high-end this party was (and how unlike all other parties he'd invited them to—aka frat parties—have never been like _this_ ).

"He's not answering my texts," Jane says, worrying her bottom lip. "He wouldn't—stand me up, would he?"

Darcy shrugs. "Normally I'd play the role of the optimist, but we've been here for like thirty minutes and he hasn't shown up yet, so..."

The comment, as expected, doesn't soothe Jane's nerves. Instead she just takes the champagne flute out of Darcy's hand and empties it in one gulp, cheeks already flushing red. (She always _has_ been a lightweight.)

"Jane? Darcy?"

Darcy quickly takes the flute out of Jane's hand and tosses it aside as Sif—one of Thor's closest friends—approaches. Sif looks unfairly gorgeous, dressed in a long black dress with a gaping slit and hair curled soft over her bare shoulders, because of course everyone at this party is dressed to the nines. Jane and Darcy, on the other hand, are both wearing jeans and casual sweaters. Like, you know, normal college students on a Friday night.

"Sif, hey!" Darcy grins, discreetly shoving the champagne flutes by Jane to the floor as Jane blinks up, slower to grasp the reality that her boyfriend's ex is staring at them quizzically. "Banging party, huh?"

"Yeah," says Sif slowly, the confusion very evident in her voice as she not-so-subtly looks over what they're wearing. "Did...Thor not tell you guys to dress formally?"

"Must've slipped his mind," Darcy shrugs, "you know how he gets. Speaking of, you wouldn't by chance have seen the big guy yet, have you?"

"He's with his parents, out in the patio area." Sif gestures vaguely behind her, eyes narrowing at Jane suspiciously as she gauges Jane's tipsy state. "How long have you guys been here?"

"Not long. Not at all," Darcy hurries to say before Jane can get a word in. "I think we should go find him, though. Thanks Sif! See ya!"

Sif watches, still confused, as Darcy takes Jane's elbow and leads her away from their secluded corner. Only when they're away from Sif does Jane freak out, gripping Darcy's arms and whispering,

"I can't meet his parents like this! I'm—I'm—"

"A lightweight?"

" _Darcy_ ," Jane hisses. "I'm wearing pants!"

"And that's a good thing! At the very least, an improvement from the last time you were drunk."

Jane freezes in place just as Darcy drags them to the door leading to the patio. "I'm not drunk," Jane insists. "And I mean I'm not dressed nice!"

"Fine. Tipsy," Darcy corrects herself. "And you are too dressed nice! Your jeans don't even have a single stain on them. Classroom you should take some tips from party you."

Jane rolls her eyes at that and opts to peek out the door instead of replying. But, as she catches sight of the outdoor decorations, she gasps. "Darcy."

"What?"

"It's..." Jane trails off as Darcy takes a look for herself. Holy shit, does whoever owns this place have _money_. The patio isn't a simple table-and-chairs combo with a small yard; there's a big-ass pool, a hot tub, and more than one table-and-chair combos decorated with soft white lights and what look to be whole bottles of champagne at each table.

"Holy shit," Darcy says, awed, and she and Jane step outside to take a closer look. There are people milling around at each table, just nursing their thin flutes of champagne and talking. Even though most of the people in attendance can't be much older than Jane and Darcy, they must either be prudes or really lame because no one seems to be _partying_. Or even making out a little.

Darcy spots Thor then, a second before Jane does (and stiffens at the sight of the two older people standing beside him). He's wearing a tailored black suit with a red tie on, his usually shaggy blond hair sleek and pulled away from his face. His face lights up when he catches sight of the two of them, finally, and he says something to his parents before crossing the backyard to get to them.

"Jane, you made it!" Thor exclaims, broad smile on his face as he leans in to kiss her.

Jane staggers backwards. "You—I thought you stood me up," she says, and it _sounds_ like she's trying to be mad, but she also keeps looking at Thor's arms. And his chest. And his overall whole being in a suit, which even Darcy (in a platonic, friendly way that in no way suggests she checks out her roommate's boyfriend) can admit is completely hot.

"I'm sorry." Thor really does look apologetic, and he takes Jane's hand, pressing his lips to it. "My phone died. I didn't know you had arrived."

Jane, in all her tipsy glory, melts into a puddle and throws her arms around Thor's neck to kiss him. Hard. Darcy snickers, because Thor's parents are obviously taken aback by the sight (as are some of the people milling around). But Thor just breaks the kiss off, smiling at his girlfriend tenderly, and the moment shifts from funny to third-wheeling territory really quick.

"I know it's very soon," Thor says after a moment. "But, given that this house belongs to my parents, they've been rather relentless about me inviting the woman I brought here to meet them. I was wondering if you would indulge them."

Jane pales. "Now? But I'm—underdressed."

"You look beautiful," Thor says, brushing his hand over Jane's jaw warmly. "I suppose I forgot to tell you this party was a formal one."

"You think?" Darcy scoffs.

Thor ignores her. "But I assure you, my parents will not think less of you," he assures his girlfriend. "They have been wanting to meet you for some time."

Jane hesitates, because for how easily she wins over professors and college staff, she's never done well in social situations. Darcy is just wondering if she should edge her way along with them to save Jane's ass when Thor finally turns to look at Darcy.

"Darcy, I hate to leave you, but please feel free to make yourself at home," he says. It's clearly a dismissal—at the least, a hint for Darcy to not stick around as Jane and the future parents-in-law go head to head—so Darcy just agrees, patting Thor's bulging bicep as he takes Jane's hand and leads her away. Jane looks like she wants to puke, but at least Thor continues to stare at her like she's hung the stars. It'd be cute if it wasn't rude as hell, leaving Darcy alone in this schmoozy party with no one to talk to. Or drink with.

But whatever. If there's anything Darcy Lewis can do, it's party on her own. First thing's first: she is _so_ taking a whole bottle of champagne with her, which she snags right under the noses of some old ladies chilling at a nearby table. Then she walks back inside, bottle in hand that she occasionally takes a swig from, to take a closer look at how loaded Thor must be. (Darcy isn't even pissed he's invited them to this party anymore. She's pissed that she and Jane have even spent a dime of their money around him.)

Darcy squeezes past people by the long, winding staircase and briefly thinks about going up to check out upstairs. Then she shakes her head and walks on, because she's not getting arrested today; she instead goes into what she thinks must be the dining room. (It is decidedly not the dining room at all, but the kitchen.) Caterers are busy taking platters of hor d'oeuvres out the people milling around outside; meanwhile, others stay behind serving individual champagne flutes in quick, fluid motions before placing them on trays and whisking them off as well.

Darcy hugs the champagne bottle to her chest and watches for a few moments, enraptured by how quickly and efficiently everyone works. A few caterers give her odd looks, but for the most part, no one seems to care that a random girl in jeans has wandered in to the kitchen. Darcy picks a few stuffed shrimp off a tray and promptly walks back out, satisfied when the caterer about to take the tray out sputters after her.

The next room she wanders into is way past the kitchen, one that's hidden by a different staircase, one wider and blocked off by heavy boxes (Darcy knows, she kicked one). Its door is ajar, but there's an obvious warm light inside, so Darcy shrugs and stuffs her last shrimp in her mouth and shoulders her way inside.

She almost chokes when she sees that it's essentially a library. Seriously, it looks like something out of _Beauty and the Beast_ or something, with bookcases towering over her head filled to the brim with books. The whole room smells like old paperback books and something sweet—like vanilla candles, maybe—and it feels like something out of a movie. Darcy takes another swig from her bottle and wanders in, leaving the door open behind her.

The middle of the room is wide and open, a few couches situated around a long wooden table in the center of the room. There are a few books strewn on the table, and Darcy takes a look at their pages, but they're all in a language she doesn't recognize. She shrugs and plops down on one of the couches, picking up one of the books and idly flipping through it while sipping at her champagne in comfortable silence. This isn't a super fun Friday night like Darcy had envisioned—she had wanted to make out with a hot guy, for one—but oddly enough, it's nice. Quiet, at least.

"Loki!"

Darcy starts, sloshing some of her champagne over her sweater. To her horror, two people come walking in. Well, _walking_ is a understatement; one, a guy with long dark hair and a fitted suit is stalking into the room with a set jaw and furrowed brow, and the other—a blond woman in a silver dress—is nearly running to catch up.

" _Loki_ ," the woman huffs, clearly annoyed. "You know it was not my fault—"

"Sigyn," the guy—Loki—cuts her off, slowing to a stop about five feet from the door, his hands folded behind his back gracefully. "I'd advise you to leave."

Darcy sinks in her seat, torn between making herself known to escape or pretending to be asleep. Or drunk.

"Not until you've heard me out," says Sigyn firmly.

Loki scoffs, his jaw tightening. "Please, say what you want," he sneers. "I'd love to hear what explanation you can give for sleeping with your yoga instructor. I'd hope, for as long as you've been seeing him, that you don't try and insist it was a _mistake_."

Darcy cautiously tries to set down the book and maybe hide somewhere that's not three feet away from them. But dammit, it slips out of her fingers and falls onto the floor with a soft _thud_. Darcy's eyes widen in panic as both Sigyn and Loki finally turn their heads to look at her, Sigyn with a look slowly turning into anger and Loki with one of curiosity.

"Hi," is all that comes out of Darcy's mouth, and she winces (internally) as her hand moves on its own accord to give a weak wave. "Don't mind me, I was just, er, leaving?"

Sigyn turns to Loki, anger redirected at once. " _What_ is this girl doing in your private study?" she asks sharply.

 _Private study_? Darcy is suddenly even more jealous of Thor and whoever this guy is—probably some cousin or brother or something. This "private study" is like twice as big as her dorm. Maybe thrice.

"Come now, Sigyn," Loki says, bringing Darcy out of her thoughts. There is a cool smirk tugging on his lips, a devilish lilt to his voice, and then he delivers the final blow: "Surely you couldn't expect me not to move on."

Sigyn's mouth drops open. "You can't be serious."

Darcy is thinking the _exact_ same thing, and she's sure her face shows it. Loki doesn't seem to care, though, because he crosses the room in long, elegant strides (what the fuck his legs are sinfully long) before stopping right in front of Darcy. His eyes hold an obvious question—a careful _play along?_ —as he offers his hand, and Darcy blinks up at him for a while (into his really pretty green eyes) before taking it.

Loki presses a kiss to Darcy's knuckles, his hand cold but soft. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, my dear," he says, his smirk still in place. "As you can see, I've been rather unfairly held hostage."

"Uh, no problem, dude. I mean—it's okay," Darcy musters out in response. (An actress she most certainly is _not_.)

Sigyn's eyes narrow. "You sure seem to care less and less about honoring your family name," she says, her gaze like ice as it trails over Darcy's clothes. "Be careful, Loki. One might think you're becoming your brother."

 _That_ is a jab that Loki reacts to, jaw tightening once more as he drops Darcy's hand. "You may exit the way you came in, Sigyn," he says coolly. "Or shall I ask security to help?"

Sigyn angrily storms out, the door behind her slamming forcefully. The sound echoes in the quiet of the study, but it's not too loud to mask the soft sigh Loki expels once Sigyn is gone. It's not remorseful, like a man already missing his ex, but rather one of barely-masked disappointment.

"Um," Darcy starts, making Loki turn and look at her as if just noticing she's just there, "I...didn't know this place was off limits."

Loki shakes his head, more to himself than her. "Aren't you supposed to be serving guests?" he asks her curtly, all warmth gone from his eyes and he folds his hands behind his back again in a regal manner that really shouldn't be as attractive as it is.

"Uh, no," say Darcy, half offended he thinks she's part of the catering staff. "I _am_ a guest."

Loki's eyes soften. "Ah. Forgive me, I thought you worked with..." he trails off, and Darcy supposes that there's some story with the catering company and Sigyn. Then he looks at the champagne bottle, and he quirks an eyebrow. "I suppose you're not enjoying yourself out there?"

"These parties aren't my thing," Darcy shrugs, "sue me." She pats the spot on the couch beside her after a moment, deciding the cute stranger might be all the distraction she needs. "Want a drink?"

"I really shouldn't."

"Yeah, but do you _want_ to?" Darcy offers the bottle up. "Break-ups can suck sometimes. And this is some good champagne."

Loki hesitates, then he slowly takes a seat anyway, like he knows he'll regret it but can't bring himself to care. "I don't suppose you have anything stronger," he says after he takes a small sip, passing the bottle back right afterwards.

"No, but I have at least three drunk tattoo stories that'll make your night," Darcy offers, handing it right back.

Those green eyes fix on her, curious and guarded, but a slow smile soon makes its way on Loki's face. "You have tattoos?"

"Hey man, college. It's a time to disrespect your parents and get too drunk to feel needles," Darcy says, and she grins when Loki laughs, the sound low and rich.

"I'm Loki, by the way," Loki says. "Thank you for playing along. You certainly helped get rid of her quicker."

"Darcy Lewis, glad to be of service." Darcy pulls her knees up to her chest and watches as Loki takes a longer pull of champagne, her grin only widening. "Whoa! _Now_ you're getting the hang of it."

Loki chuckles. "You know," he says, "I'd very much like to hear your tattoo stories."

Darcy steals back the bottle to take a quick gulp of it before Loki can finish it off, her cheeks already feeling pleasantly warm. (It helps there's a cute guy with a jawline that could cut glass and really pretty green eyes sitting next to her.) Then she's talking, fixing her glasses with one hand and giggling through her words as Loki smirks and finishes off the champagne, his shoulder brushing hers. (His laugh at the story of the horribly misspelled Katy Perry quote tattoo makes her feel more fuzzy than alcohol ever could.)

Darcy even shows him the tattoo on her lower back, the one of a bird taking flight, and she shivers when his long, cold fingers press against it briefly. Then _that_ results in her kissing him when he tries to say something about it, and him rather enthusiastically kissing back, and yeah the champagne bottle ends up on the floor. And Darcy ends up on Loki's lap, her fingers tracing that sharp jaw while his hands rest low on her back.

(Jane finds them later when Loki has been divested of his suit jacket, tie dangling off his neck and white shirt wrinkled; Darcy, in just her bra and jeans, only blinks up at her roommate through askew glasses while Jane shrieks and hurriedly leaves.

But that's _so_ okay, because hey, while does Darcy apologetically leave to follow her scarred roommate, she leaves with one last intoxicating kiss and Loki's phone number in her pocket. She'll have to thank Thor later.)


End file.
